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Cymru
"There is no pleasure too sinful, no pain too extreme, for sensation is its own reward." Origin As a remembrancer, Cymru had made a life for himself orbiting the social elite while not being part of it. Like a dog on a leash he was trotted out as part of Oberlin Montcroix's retinue of allies, sycophants, and hanger's-on. Cymru's position in this entourage was to record the young lordling's accomplishments in the best light possible. All poems, short stories and epics were edited severely by the House seneschal, Christobal Krieg. Much to the dismay of Christobal, the young remembrancer adroitly evaded all the obvious pitfalls and many of the hidden traps, producing works of art upon which the young lordling fawned. With the favor of heir-ascendant Oberlin, Cymru's star was rising. Then, disaster struck. It started as a headache. A constant buzzing in the back of his mind. Weeks rolled by as Cymru sought out all manner of pain suppresants, opiate-based tinctures, to no avail. With each pill swallowed, every dose injected, every powder inhaled, the buzzing grew and grew, out to a loud wailing that simply would not stop. As the hell-spawned agony grew, Cymru's craft began to decline. Once florid prose was reduced to gloom-filled dirges filled with regret. Cymru gradually found himself relegated to a position gravitating on the outer ring of Lord Oberlin's circle. The pain in his head fueled the shame and anger in Cymru's heart. And still the pain grew. Now a howling gale, Cymru gradually became aware of voices in the pain. Calling to him from beyond the waves of agony, they promised release. All he had to do was submit to the pain. Accept it. Wish for it. On a brisk autumnal day, Cymru found himself on the balcony of a mid-rise holding. The bright sunlight stabbed at Cymru's eyes as he watched his lord ply a young debutante with expensive amasec. The remembrancer was a shade of what he once was, his previously meticulous robe was wrinkled and stained. Dark rings encircled his eyes. His hair was a depressing tangle. And still the pain beckoned him. When he looked on his lord, he realized he hated the pompous, preening oaf. The voices told him to free himself from his servitude. All he had to do was reach out. All he had to do was take his own freedom and do what he most desired. All he had to do was accept the dark desires deep in his soul and realize them as reality. It all happened so fast. Cymru acquiesced to the voice in his mind. A bitterly cold blast of air blew from inside the sitting room and rampaged out across the balcony. The delicate glass and steel table was cast down, plates and silvered settings clattering to the floor. The young lord was thrown to the edge of the balcony, crashing painfully into the low wall. Shouts and cries of alarm rang from the hangers-on as they ran to the aid of their lord. Cymru stood alone, a silent shout of primal rage and agony sketched on his features. One of the young lord's confederates scooped up a candlestick and clubbed Cymru to the floor. Cymru awoke to chains and a dark cell. The next few days were a blur of beatings and remonstration from the house cleric. "You will be sent away to a penal colony, until the Black Ships arrive to take you to your ultimate fate" said the jeering voices. But all Cymru knew was that the voices only went away when he released himself from the pain. He knew how to do it now. All he had to do was perfect it. "I never wanted to be part of this curse. I didn't ask to be a pariah. I was an artist! I coupled words into verse; verse to couplet; couplet to stanza! My works were on the lips and in the hearts of the highest of noble families. I dined at sumptuous tables, bedded beauties of the richest lineages and wore the latest and most daring of finery." '' ''"Then it all came crashing down." '' ''"I now stand alone. Revealed to the galaxy as an abomination. My works have been cast into the flames of hate and forgotten. But I will show them! I will not be forgotten! By the words from my lips I will ensnare their hearts and lead them to oblivion! I will take from them their fine foods and posh airs. Their sons and daughters will dance to the tune that I write, and all will drink of the bitter cup from which I have been forced to partake. Now dance you curs and despair! With your trappings and finery will I catch you. I will remake your jewels and gold into iron hooks and chains. You will weep for your souls and your fate and beg to be near me upon my ascendance. And when I have wrung that last bit of use from you, when there is nothing left for you to give, I will cast you aside and forget you." Current Events ' I am pleased to announce that we have made good on our escape from the penal colony on Pelagus V (in no small part due to my superior mastery of Warp-craft. One might even be inclined to regard my actions as being to sole reason we even had an opportunity to escape, at all!) A few well-placed words of command in the ears of key puppets and we were on our way. We did have a run-in with one of those thrice-cursed Inquisitors, however Fate had reckoned us as victorious, so any action that armored bitch took was doomed to failure. Speaking of failures, our other erstwhile psyker almost caused our entire escape to fail. While making good our escape to the lighter, Ater took it into his fool head that he should attempt to fry our pursuer with Warp summoned bolts of doom. Whether it was due to his inherent limited command of the Warp, or Fate having good laugh at our expense, he drew too deeply from the well (as they say) and very nearly caused a major Warp incursion. A cautionary tale to be sure, but I am supremely confident that such an occurrence would not happen to me! Still, I am wise enough to see a warning presented, and I will have to consider methods to stave off such an event. ' So, some observations are in order. Kelmec and Lishia cannot be trusted, the hereteks are buffoons who parrot evry word that tumbles from the lips of Kelmec and Lishia, and I am (apparently) alone. We had been hired on by Lord Commander Cain with destabilizing a Hive on Malfi. We landed and all went well until our guide gave us a tainted contact. Some low-born scav hunter who provided our hereteks with a couple of maps to give us an idea for orientation. What the hereteks were late in discovering was that the miserable scav hunter had placed a homing beacon in the maps and had summoned the local constabulary. FOOLISH! During the Arbites raid, the other psyker had what can charitably be called a "mishap". The damned fool didn't learn from his previous error. Only this time a wave of uncontrolled Warp energy course through him and outward to all of us. Caught unaware, I was bathed in it's mutating energy. My heart seized and I knew no more. I awoke in a large marble palace. Legend and Fable Artefacts and Arcana Associates Allies The Macabre Castor The Covenant of Blood Enemies Interrogator Janus